


Dragon Age - Prompts and Drabbles

by ar_lath_ma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Longing, Love, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Pregnancy, Red Templar Cullen, Secret Crush, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ar_lath_ma/pseuds/ar_lath_ma
Summary: I'm going to be posting any short (and I mean short) works I've done as practice to get back into writing. Kind, constructive criticism is more than welcome. Updates will hopefully come daily or weekly, as I work my way back into writing comfortably.Cullen/Female InquisitorSolas/ Female LavellanEtc.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Home

Soft, supple flesh under him. A sigh, a moan, begging sweetly. Rough, calloused hands running lightly over breasts tinged pink, tender, dulcet. Scarred lips pressed against a heaving chest, and his mouth began to salivate. A tongue with a mind of its own twisted around the curve of her warm breast, and a whine of want passed through her rosy lips, stained from the bite of teeth and tongue. He wanted the rest of her to have that same beautiful tint. 

Her tawny hair lay mussed and tangled around her head in a messy halo: looking the part of the angel he knew her to be. She smiled, and he watched as the soft, swollen flesh parted and her delicious tongue darted out to wet them. He wondered if the dripping, honeyed center of her could turn the same beautiful cherry. Calloused hands began to press ever so harder, still wanting to be gentle though fighting the ever present need to push and pull and take, soothing bruises and bites as they were created down the expanse of supple flesh. Past her navel, past the indent her smallclothes, now too tight, had left on her beautifully rounded underbelly, to the place where he craved the most. 

His pink tongue dragged through sticky sweet folds, and fingers pressed in to part them. He would willingly drown himself in her, if he could. Slender fingers took hold in his curly blonde hair, pulling ever so slightly into position. He smiled against her, and did as he knew she wanted, while nails dragged gently over his scalp, sending delicious sparks down his spine. She trembled beneath him. Velvet thighs pushed against on either side, caging him in, wailing in the throes of her release. She continued to shudder while pulling, painfully now, but in a way that made him groan, guttural, need pulsing through him to the very tips of his toes. 

“Now,” she gasped, fingers loosening their grip and falling to his shoulders, arms twining around his neck to pull him closer. “Please, Cullen, now.”

“Yes, my love,” he sighed against the strain of her neck, kissing his way down to her clavicle as he lined himself up. “I will give you everything you want, and more.”

And as he pushed inside, he felt at home, not for the first time, nor for the last. As long as he had her.


	2. Red Templar, Red Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt at Red Templar Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are just trial and error, and comments would be much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

When Cullen had first arrived at Redcliffe castle, wrists and ankles bound together in iron chains, Samson had stopped outside the gates, face illuminated by the rubied sunlight, to welcome his prisoners. He and a small group of Inquisition soldiers that had survived the massacre at Haven turned their heads as Samson motioned towards a wooden bridge in the distance, and blanched at the sight that met them. Bodies hung from five ropes, entwined together like ropes of garlic hung to dry, off the edge. Groups of the dead were hung separately from them: the elderly, men, women, children, and even infants. Beneath them lay a pile of bodies, and carts overflowing with the dead. Not one soldier made a sound, to Samson’s obvious dismay, as they were too shell-shocked to react. From then on, Cullen knew to read the passing of time not by the passing of day and night - which could not be seen in the vermilion sky - but by torn flesh as it rotted away yellowed bones.

It had been a year since their Herald disappeared. He had not been present at Redcliffe when it had happened, but Cullen had not forgotten the last moments he spent with her at Haven. Fleeting glances, a smile, and the corners of lush lips lifting up towards beautiful green and brown irises, likened to a sunflower swaying in the morning breeze, felt like some sort of promise. He felt for her. It might not have been love yet, no, but it was no mere infatuation, either. They had yet to know each other enough for true feelings to bloom, but the more he watched her across from him at the war table, twiddling with her braided hair and slyly winking at Leliana as she listened to Josephine ramble on about another nobleman, he knew they could be something. Cullen yearned for someone to wake to. He longed to run fingers through her blonde, silky hair and over the very tip of her lovely pointed ears, just to see that ever present mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He had never dared to, of course. Yet still, he wanted.

The way her curled slightly against her cheeks, how her eyebrows pulled together in concentration while she spoke solemnly in apology for Sera's latest antics, whilst trying not to allow her amusement to break through her well crafted facade. He never fought much against his own answering grin.

The way she blushed when he did smile, and how it creeped across the light green of her tattooed cheeks, allowed him to believe that she just might be interested in him as well. The melodic sound of her laugh. He had only known her for a short while, but from the moment he saw her; he had wanted. 

Oh, how he had wanted. 

Lingering memories made the painful ache in his chest that much more prominent. It was one of the few good memories he had left that had yet to be ruined. Everything else was stained scarlet from lyrium - lyrium that had been forced down his throat that slowly slithered through swollen veins for weeks until his mind had become his only sanctuary and his body nothing but an empty hull. He could hide behind the wall of his lyrium-addled vision, and pale, paper-thin skin, replaying his happiest moments over and over again to keep the panic at bay, as his veins became more prominent, pulsing, a flash of ruby as crystals began to pierce through. If it weren’t for Branson, Rosalie, and Mia… no, if it were not for the ghost of Ellana, the whisper of her hand resting upon his shoulder as they looked over plans at the war table and the lilting chime of her voice murmuring  _ Commander Cullen, _ he would have fully given himself up to Corypheus’s Commander long ago.

It was not long after she was gone that an army of Red Templars came for them, fronted by Samson and a cowering Alexius not far behind. Corypheus felt no need to leave his throne to take over Thedas. Cullen and his soldiers had fought as hard as they could to keep Haven’s walls standing, but with the screech of the behemoths in the distance, and the violent slice of sword against supple flesh filling his being, the walls inevitably came tumbling down. As the Inquisition fell, so did his sanity.

It became impossible to think clearly, to live with the sound of Josephine’s screams, and the hiss of her last, painful breath pushed through gritted teeth and blood-stained lips. He gave in, much too easily for his liking. The pain of needles through thin skin and lyrium in his hungry stomach was heavy. Any thought of spending another day chained to cold stone walls as he gasped and gagged, hoping an overdose would finally take him, was too much. So, he gave in. Like the pathetic excuse for a man that he was, he became Samson’s puppet. Fronted a troop of Red Templars as a Red Templar himself. Burned down villages, raised his sword for his new leader because his body was no longer his own, and neither were his actions. None of the Inquisition’s advisors could have ever imagined what the Red Templars truly faced at the hands of Samson. 

When Samson called for him, he went, legs moving against his will. Fighting against an invisible force that snaked its way through his veins, muscles cramping at the strain, was ever present. When Samson demanded something of him, it was done, even if it meant torturing one of the only people he had ever trusted. Leliana had lost the look of pity in her eyes long ago, and instead longed for the day she could sever his head from his neck and end both of their suffering, once and for all. He craved it, too, for the feeling to come back to his fingers and the control over his own limbs: to think, speak, and act of his own accord. Cullen’s resolve was far too fragile, he knew. He should have fought harder, but there had been no stopping the control of the lyrium. Now it seemed his tongue would not form any other words except  _ Yes, Commander. Thy will be done, Commander.  _ All the while, he hid. In the darkest depths of his subconscious, behind an impenetrable wall, he hid. It was easiest to pretend nothing existed but the whisper of her memory. 

It was all he had - all he needed. 

Screams of agony and terror echoed through the vacant halls of Redcliffe, a never-ending cacophony of suffering. As he took his daily patrols down winding halls, surrounded by dusty stone and bright red lyrium, growing from the sockets of long-dead mages and soldiers alike, he heard a commotion from down the hall. Alexius. His legs moved forward, on instinct, and he began to unsheathe his sword as he rounded the corner, muscles tensed and ready. He was but a meter from the doorway to the throne room where the Herald last stood, when he saw them.

A mage he had never seen, but had heard enough about from Alexius, who must have been Dorian Pavus. Next to him, the Iron Bull, and Sera, clothes torn and sullied,distress etched into the stark lines of their faces, but with a confidence in their stances that he had not seen in what felt like eons. He would have smiled, if he could have.

Slowly he began to step forward, attempting to quietly investigate, when he saw a brilliant flash of blonde hair, and the pointed tip of an ear he spent many nights wishing he had been able to touch: unscathed by the horrors of the past year.  _ Ellana _ .

Cullen felt what little he had left of a spirit exited his body, at that moment. There she was, the Herald -  _ his _ Herald - looking perfectly healthy and  _ alive _ , if not a bit distraught at what was going on in front of her. He felt his legs shaking beneath him, struggling to hold himself up, wanting to run forward, for their eyes to meet, if only for the shortest of moments. She was alive. 

_ Ellana Lavellan was alive. _

He took another step forward, shakier than a newborn foal. It had been so long since he had been able to feel the heaviness of his own limbs: since he had had the privilege of control. Cullen could thank his friends for that, for the small bit of hope they had given him, at that moment. He stumbled, his steel gauntlets scraping against the castle walls surrounding him. Cullen could feel his heart pounding in his ears. He could hear Ellana shouting, sounds of fighting, and he couldn't move.

If he went out, it would be the end of everything. He couldn't fight against them, for they were his friends, and she was the only person who had kept him going for so long. He was afraid. He knew what he looked like now, and how they all felt about him. Traitor. Filth. Cullen deserved to rot in the darkest depths of the Void, he knew. He could see where Alexius lay in a broken pile upon the floor, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to move. 

The trembling of his hands and the sound of footsteps approaching quickly down the hall to his right broke him of his reverie. When he turned to see who was shouting, time stopped flowing.

Samson stood not far from him, red eyes seething, lips pulling up and over grotesque teeth. In their reflection, Cullen could see: Iron Bull falling to the dusty stone floor, Sera laying prone, back to a column while blood pooled on the floor around her, Dorian slumped against the drapes looking much the same, and Ellana…

Ellana.

He knew exactly what Samson would have him do. The moment he spoke, Cullen would lose all control, and raise his sword against what remained of the Inquisition. He would slit the throat of the ones he loved, and watched as their blood spewed across the castle floor, already stained from the lifeblood and entrails of so many innocent, while Samson stood not far behind, rejoicing all the while.

In the next moment, Cullen made a decision he wished he had had the strength to make long before, when Samson had first laid a sword in his hands after weeks of torture at his very hand. After he had long since given in, like the truly weak man that he was. As time began flowing again, he could hear the murmur of magic in the air, and taste the ozone on his tongue. He could hear someone bellowing, and the doorway was swathed in a sickly green light, illuminating his left side. The Herald.  _ Ellana _ . Samson took another step forward, face beginning to twist into a gnarled grimace as he prepared to shout out his command, and Cullen thought of his beloved Herald one last time. 

Before Samson could speak, Cullen's trembling subsided, and with newfound confidence and surety, he withdrew the sword at his side from its scabbard. He lifted it up, hilt pointed downward, blade positioned towards the ceiling, and spoke proudly, unwavering.

"For the Inquisition!"

And he brought the blade forward, releasing his grip of the hilt to grasp the blade firmly between his hands. Blood rushed out, slicking his fingers, but he would not lose purchase. Cullen took what would be his last breath, and as the green light vanished from the corner of his eye, he brought the tip of the blade towards him, piercing the skin of his jugular. He fell, as blood bloomed and splattered across the floor around him, onto his own blade. He was thankful that the lyrium did not diminish the feeling of sword tearing through flesh, severing tendon and muscle and vein. It would be quick.

As his eyes fluttered shut, and his mouth gaped and gasped for breath that would never come, and blood spurted from his lips, he thought of her. The Herald of Andraste. Ellana. Light green tattoos, swirling from her brow to the bow of her lip. Ellana. The sound of her laughing breathlessly, happy. 

_ Ellana.  _


	3. Loving Eyes, Full Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an excerpt from a short chaptered fic that I'm currently working on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for a beta for this story, if anyone is interested. Unplanned Pregnancy AU, Cullen/Lavellan. Takes place after Halamshiral, and after the desk scene.

As the sun rises above the vast mountain chain surrounding Skyhold, and beams of light illuminate the musty carpet upon her floor, Ellana Lavellan wakes. With a stretch of arms above her mussed chestnut hair, she sits up, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. She turns to the empty half of the bed beside her, long turned cold, and sighs. Then smiles, faintly. Ellana turns to the side, and stands. The carpet is cool beneath her feet, and she shivers at the breeze coming through from underneath the balcony doors, rustling her sleep clothes, though the sun is slowly heating up the room. The coming of spring has been a blessing, as she no longer needs to have a fire consistently burning throughout cold winter nights. It does help that she has had another body to warm her bed.

Thinking of him, she smiles and moves toward her desk, picking up her brush as she moves to sit, and pulls her mirror towards her. Ellana checks out her reflection in the mirror, and chuckles quietly at how messy she looks. Her forest green and tawny eyes are more red than usual, due to a lack of sleep. Worth it, she thinks as she gently pulls the bristles of her brush through her tangled, wavy hair a few times before setting the brush down to braid it, and reminisces about the night before. 

A quiet knock at her door late into the night, long after she had fallen asleep, woke her abruptly. When Ellana opened it, she found him standing before her, still wearing his armor, looking sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. He looked quite awake, in comparison to the late time.  
“Cullen,” she felt a bit self-conscious in her thin nightdress, and tried not to cross her arms over her chest to better conceal herself, though it was difficult not to. He had already seen her without clothes, in candlelight on his desk about a week before. Things had been a bit awkward since then, and it was difficult to meet eyes when they both would break out into a nervous sweat and blush, tomato-red. Leliana and Josephine were quite tired of them both. But it shouldn’t have mattered. The thought of their night together still made a rosiness creep up her face. Ellana imagined Cullen could see the outline of her breasts through her papery shift, and that made her turn an even deeper shade of crimson. By the Dread Wolf. “Is something the matter?”

Cullen continued to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck, eyes downcast towards the floor. His face was unusually pink. 

“Ah, Inqui - Ellana, I’m sorry to have woken you. If I had known you were already asleep, I would have…” 

“Nonsense,” she couldn’t help but smile, moving aside to allow him to move past her into her quarters. “It’s no bother. Please, come in.”


	4. Loving Eyes and Full Hearts, 2nd excerpt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of the beginning of the next chapter of the story I'm writing. up for criticism, if anyone has any.

It was much easier to remove his armor this time, now that she knew where the clasps were hidden. As metal fell away from warm skin, the couple was finally free to touch and explore each other. Ellana took advantage of this, leaning fully into Cullen’s muscular chest, and embraced him. Her slender hands curved around the back of his head, into his curly hair. She scraped her nails against his scalp lightly, causing him to shiver and close his eyes in pleasure. Their lips moved effortlessly against each other, as this was a dance they had already mastered; it was what came after they were still perfecting, eager as they were to practice now.

Tongues met, slick and soft, then hard and insistent as they swept against each other. Cullen gripped her hips tightly, desperately, and tipped towards her, chasing the taste of her luscious mouth. When they finally pulled back, their lips were tinted ruby and swollen, and Ellana’s chin felt rubbed raw by Cullen’s stubble. His light brown eyes followed the way her chest lifted as she panted. Cullen put a large hand at her upper back to steady her, and twisted, laying her gently upon the twisted lustrous sheets of her bed. Their first night together had been rushed in their impatience to be skin-to-skin. When he had taken her, it had been against the rigid wood of his trustworthy desk, which had left them both aching and bruised in many places, though highly satisfied in the end. This time, Cullen wished to take his time and savor the delicate slide of her silken skin against his and relish the taste of her upon his tongue. His hungry gaze conveyed that to her then, and she couldn’t stop the trembling need that washed through her. 

Cullen leaned back onto his heels, mattress dipping and creaking beneath his full weight, to pull off his ivory muslin tunic. Ellana’s eyes immediately met chiseled expanse of his glorious chest, and she bit her lip to keep from grinning. He chuckled and began sliding his sturdy, rough fingers up the soft planes of her thighs, taking the bottom of her nightgown with her. Once he met the naked flesh of her hips he stilled, fingertips digging enough to turn alabaster skin red, and made a low, keening noise in his throat. His gaze turned ravenous, slipping down to where his hands laid against her, and was welcomed by the sight of her honeypot in the dim light. Ellana was overwhelmed then, for she couldn’t decide whether to look at his bared torso, the way his erection - now at full mast - pushed firmly against his nugskin breeches, or where he then stared, in awe. 


	5. Loving Eyes, chapter 3 excerpt

A sharp knock at her door breaks Ellana from the seductive pull of the memory of her night with her loving Commander. A quick glance towards the clock on the fireplace's mantle shows that a fair amount of time has passed since she first sat to fix her hair. She jumps up hurriedly and pulls her light blue silk robe from the back of her chair (a gift from Josephine for her great work at the Winter Palace, of course), swiftly pulling the tie into place around her slim waist. She runs down the stairs to the door, wood creaking loudly beneath her quick steps. When she opens the door this time, she is met by a flustered looking messenger. 

"Inquisitor," It's Jim, unsurprisingly. He salutes her, face flushed and avoiding her gaze. "The Commander has sent me for you. Your advisors are waiting in the war room."

"Right," she sighs, resisting the urge to slam the door in his face and go back to her leisurely morning. "I'll be there momentarily. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No, ser, but I was just on my way."

"Good. Don't let me keep you," she says, smiling as she waves him along. He tips his head towards her with a last 'yes, ser' before she closes the door. Leaning fully against it she lets out a long and loud huff, shrugging to herself. This is nothing new. It's just going to be another long day.

~~~~

The meeting concludes with the consensus that it’s time to begin the journey to the Hissing Wastes. An Inquisition patrol has gone missing there, and with reports of multitudes of Venatori, and some type of killer beast roaming about, it’s past time that the Inquisitor departs. 

Josephine and Leliana leave the room, the first patting Ellana’s shoulder in sympathy and the latter gripping her other shoulder briefly before making a swift exit. Cullen stays behind, looking defeated, attempting to school his expression. His mouth looks as if it could be twisted permanently into a frown, corners curled down as far as they can. Ellana walks up to him and takes his hand, twining their fingers together. She has to fight a laugh at his almost comical expression, though she feels much the same. 

His eyebrows, which seemed to be fused together into one long hairy line, relax back into their respective places. Cullen leans over to press a kiss to the top of her head, letting his lips rest in her hair for a moment before standing straight once more, fighting the urge to run a hand over his face. She notes the bags under his eyes, and feels a twinge of guilt.

“At least one good thing will come of this,” she smiles up at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a slight smirk.

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll be able to get plenty of rest while I’m gone.”

He laughs loudly once, coughing quickly to cover the sound before shaking his head in disagreement. His smile has grown wider, though, and she feels pride at that. 

“If you think that I’m able to sleep soundly while you’re out fighting beasts beyond comprehension, you’re out of your mind.” 


	6. Dreams

_ There was a pitter-patter; the sound of feet slapping against muddy earth. She jumped from a large boulder into the slowly flowing river, squealing in joy when strong, secure arms caught her and spun her around. Her father’s dark shoulder-length hair was slicked back and out of his face. His sunflower eyes glinted in the bright sunlight, corners wrinkled from a loving grin. He lifted her from his hip to his shoulders, and she wrapped her little arms around his neck to steady herself as he swam with her against his back. They drifted slowly, dreamily, and she let go to swim away, splashing him as she went.  _

_ Little toes slipped over slick smooth rocks and she swam against the gentle caress of the lazy current. The water cooled her, washing away summer sweat as insects chirped and sang their midsummer melody. She spun on her toes, eyes searching for her mother while her father floated along on his back, behind her.  _

_ Her mother sat upon a boulder on the bank, her waist-length hair woven into intricate braids. Silver beads donned the bottoms, clinking against each other as she threw her hair behind her. Mother’s feet lay in the cool waters beneath, gently swishing back and forth as she pulled her thin needle through the emerald fabric of a new dress meant for her precious daughter. Her own white shift lay across her thighs, scrunched up to keep away from the water. One hand moved to rest upon the swell of her rounded stomach, rubbing gently as her baby kicked within. _

_ Along the riverbank, Halla tilted their heads to drink, the midday summer sun shining upon their twisted antlers. Ellana swam towards her mother, accepting the fresh yellow apple handed to her. It crunched satisfyingly under her little teeth: crisp and sweet. The low-hanging wispy leaves of a Willow tickled the back of her neck. When she looked up, she noticed two songbirds, rubbing sides together as they tweeted and sang. An azure feather fell and drifted to the ground beside her. _

_ Her mother began to hum along. Ellana couldn’t look away from where she ran a gentle hand across her belly, flesh distending as the form of a little hand became visible.  _


	7. ADORIBULL Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt of the beginning of a fanfic I'm working on, that I'll hopefully finish. Supposed to be for the ADORIBULL Big Bang, but I'm having a really hard time working on it now that I've started my MGIT.

In a land far, far away, in the Kingdom of Tevinter, lived King Halward Pavus. 

As a powerful magister that most were too afraid to approach, King Halward had lived alone for many years.. He was well known for his cold hearted demeanor and lack of tact, two things that kept him from allying with neighboring kingdoms. 

One day he met a woman, Aquinea Thalrassian, the daughter of a noble. She was breathtakingly beautiful with a perfectly pointed nose, high cheekbones, and unworldly silky skin. She was a woman who had never known hardship, had never wanted for anything; a woman who held her head high while crushing the hearts of everyone beneath her. She was perfect.

And so, they married, and Aquinea Thalrassian was crowned Queen of Tevinter. Not for love, no, but to preserve their superior lineage. At least, that was the plan until a few years later when they realized  — Queen Aquinea was barren.

For years they wished for a son to carry on their legacy. A son, who would grow to be just as powerful as his father, and just as handsome as his mother, but twice as regal. The King searched the land, and the lands far beyond, for any answer to their predicament, but eventually came up empty. Devastated, the Queen hid herself away, and the King turned to vices, entering a drunken stupor that never ceased. Until one day.

King Halward, heavily intoxicated, entered his library one night in search of a particular spellbook, when he stumbled into a bookcase, sending tomes flying to the stone floor. Dust filled the air like smoke, and he coughed, waving a hand in front of his face, when he saw it.

It was a book, inconspicuous, just like any other in his vast library. The leather bindings were of a dark maroon color, and there was no inscription indicating what type of book it was. The King felt entranced, as if the tome called him forward to touch it. A strange electrical current filled the air around it, like a barrier, and when his fingertips met the smooth cover, his hair seemed to stand on end. It pulsed against his palm, like a heartbeat. He gripped the book and lifted it with steady hands. His blood _ sang _ . 

When he opened it, a great gust of wind blew through the room, though there were no windows. Lamp lights flickered out until the library was nothing but a silent dark but the page illuminated suddenly, brighter than the sun, blinding him, and he fell. 

When he woke a moment later, the lamps were still lit. The books that had fallen to the floor were still on the bookcase, and the maroon book had vanished, but he was not worried. 

Instead he stood, using the large wooden desk as leverage to lift himself off the dusty floor, and smiled, for he knew, now, what he had not known before. A way to have the son he had always wanted. 

Blood magic. 


End file.
